If my life was a book
Would anyone read it?
Would it be happy or sad?
Romance or Action?

If my life were a book
Would it be like a John Green Novel?
Or would it be morphed into Fantasy?
Would it be filled with Mystery like a Nancy Drew volume?
Or filled with Drama?
I think i would be a trilogy; possibly more,
Because one book won't even cover a day's worth of thoughts.

If my life were a book
Would it be made of experiences and feelings?
Contemplating the small stuff
and finding the beauty in everything?
Would it be like Narnia?
Everything metaphorical
Filled with personification and anthropomorphism.

If my life were a book
Would my inner demons become monsters or a curse?
Would my love interest be a charming prince?
A rouge outlaw? Or someone i would least expect?

If my life were a book
I can only hope it would be a great adventure.
One with foreign lands and exotic animals.
One that defies gravity
And goes against everything we can imagine

If my life were a book, if one were to read it,
They would learn more about me in a hundred pieces of paper
Then they could in a day.

If my life were a book
One could possibly know me better then i know myself
Because we often reveal more than we intend to without ever knowing it ourselves.

You’re like fire spreading wildly in my veins

Burning me to ashes

But oh darling

Don’t you know,

Phoenix rose from ashes

She is a whirlwind of emotions

Impulsive as a category five

Leaving devastation as she passes by

When you’ll meet her

It’ll dawn on you

Why hurricanes are named after people

A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.

whispers chasing you as you run down the hall
don't look back at them, you may trip and fall.

Girls share secrets at lunch in the bathroom,
you hear your name, you leave the room.

running from the whispers cant stop them from starting
harsh words, behind your back they are darting.

don't run from your problems, they'll only get worse,
and then they'll take your soul away in a hearse.

so keep your mouth shut, don't make a sound,
don't let those pesky rumors, come around.

stand up and fight, for what you believe in,
if you do not, you will let the gossip win.